Meatetarians
by Taiven
Summary: Sam is a successful lawyer stuck in a miserable life. Dean is a gutsy criminal with his sights set on the big leagues. Crap! Who invited zombies to this story? Damn party crashers... Will the boys survive? Probably not, but it's fun to watch them try.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Sam is a successful lawyer stuck in a miserable life. Dean is a gutsy criminal with his sights set on the big leagues. Their paths cross at a bank robbery and- Wait, why isn't that woman afraid of the gun pointed at her head? Why is she getting back up after being shot four times? Crap! Who invited zombies to this story? Damn party crashers... A story about a group of survivor's quest to survive in a world torn, chewed, and spat back out again. Will they live through it? Probably not, but it's fun to watch them try.

**Timeline**: Alternate reality; Sam is 25 and Dean is 29

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Foul language, violence, sensitive themes, sexual content, and a lot of blood and gore. That's what makes it fun to write.

**Author's Note:** ZOMBIES! They creep the hell out of me while somehow simultaneously fascinating me. I'm sure most of you reading this would agree. I've wanted to write a zombie story for ages and here it finally is. This story will contain the good ol' fashioned zombie, not those crazies with anger issues from _29 Days Later_, those vamp zombies from _I Am Legend_, or those Mr. Rogers-gone-evil ones from _Supernatural_ itself. These are the real deal, baby. Slow walking, blood drooling, intestine-eating zombies, moans and groans and all. As for style, this story is a bit of an experiment. There will be multiple POVs, varying degrees of important characters, some familiar and some new (though Sam and Dean are the mains, of course), and... well, zombies. So give the style a bit of slack, would yah? But by all means, please take the plot seriously, because you don't f*ck around with zombies. Otherwise you end up dead and eaten and possibly resurrected again with never-ending food cravings. Then you'd be ruining that diet you're on every single day. Keep in mind this is AU, so don't be surprised when the characters act a little out of character. Or a lot. After all, no one's quite themselves when zombies are around.

Thanks to my roommate Rachel for the title. Finally someone I know in "real" life who reads fanfiction... Where have you been all my life?

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><p><strong>MEATETARIANS<strong>

Chapter I

Mr. Winchester

"You've got to be fucking with me."

"Mr. Winchester, I don't think that sort of language is appropriate here-"

Sam slammed the palms of his hands on the counter, the _smack_ resonating throughout the bank. "Are you telling me that that _fucking_ bitch withdrew half of my _fucking_ account this morning and that you just _fucking_ let her?"

The bank teller seemed to shrink back in his chair, his mouth pursed into a tiny 'o' as he stared at the enraged customer. "Mr. Winchester, I-"

"Where the fuck is the manager? I want to speak with him." Sam took a step back from the counter and looked around the bank's large lobby, as if he expected to spot the manager already rushing over to greet him. Sam figured he'd be easy to spot: a fat, balding man dressed in a suit too tight for him, probably with bulging, watery eyes or tiny shrew-like ones that never stopped shifting. It could be called stereotypical, but being a lawyer had taught Sam that stereotypes were often true and that first impressions were almost always right. The first impression Sam had gotten from this lousy, hipster-like bank teller was that he was more interested in odd fashion than his job. Who the fuck wears glasses with no lenses?

"I want to speak with him _now_," Sam called out to no one in particular, ignoring the eyes of his fellow customers. They were all gaping at him, probably wondering why he wasn't in some anger management class.

He'd like to tell them why. He'd like to explain to them that his wife was a fucking bitch who never got off her damn lazy ass unless it was to go shop for a new rug they didn't need or to attend some stupid gossip-filled brunch with her incompetent friends. He'd love to tell them _all_ about her conniving ways and how she consumed three quarters of his salary and all of his freedom while never returning anything back. How she smiled at him while she made snide remarks about his clothes and his work and his secretary. How she made the stupidest excuses as to why they couldn't have sex and then complained that she felt her husband was no longer attracted to her. How she sabotaged him in front of her friends and his coworkers, always smiling, always laughing, always putting on some fake display of innocence and kindness when really she was some evil bitch from hell who enjoyed nothing more but to torture him in a hundred different ways.

He wanted to scream this all out, but instead he turned back to the bank teller and inhaled a deep breath. "Please," he said in a much quieter and politer tone. "Call your manager."

"Y-yes, sir. I will. Straight away." The bank teller grabbed for the phone and began to push buttons, speaking in a hushed voice to someone on the other line. While he waited, Sam turned around and gave glares to those who were still gawking at him. An old lady with a ridiculous feathered hat looked away in a huff while a skinny man in wired glasses appeared almost scared when Sam met his eyes. People had always told Sam there was something intimidating about him. Not only did he stand a few inches above six feet, he was a pretty powerful man, physically, intellectually, financially, and socially. If only he wasn't married to that dumb bitch he would have-

One of the customers didn't look away when Sam pierced him with a glare. He was a man perhaps a few years older than Sam, dressed in a black tuxedo. He didn't appear to be seeking any of the employees' assistance. Instead, he was standing in the middle of the large, open space, arms crossed before his chest. He matched Sam's stare and gave a smirk, like he knew what Sam was thinking and was giving an acknowledgement, telling him he understood. But he eventually turned his head away when another man approached him, the guy dressed like he was from the 80's, mullet and all.

Sam frowned a little, thinking the two made a strange duo, but then his attention was pulled back to the bank teller as the hipster called his name. "Mr. Winchester, the manager will be coming down shortly to assist you. If you'd like to wait over there..."

"It would be my pleasure," Sam grumbled as he immediately turned away, not caring to look at the man any longer. He was afraid he would reach over the desk and rip those stupid glasses from his face, so instead he walked over to a set of uncomfortable looking chairs lined up against the marble wall. A middle aged woman dressed in jeans and a blouse was sitting down in one of the seats, her head slumped forward. Sam couldn't tell if she was sleeping or drunk. He decided not to take his chances and seated himself in the chair furthest away from her. Then he waited for the manager, going over all of the _pleasant_ things he was going to say to him.

"Mr. Winchester?" The voice was female, sexy but professional. Sam looked up at the lovely brunette staring down at him, taking less time than he'd like to appreciate the business attire she wore over what was clearly an amazing body before meeting her large, brown eyes. She held a hand out and he shook it as he stood. "I'm Madison Heart," she introduced herself. "The manager of this bank. I believe you asked to speak with me?"

"Uh, yes. Yes I did." All images of the stereotypical banker Sam had previously imagined flew from his mind. This was not a fat man in a suit. This was a beautiful woman in high heels who seemed to carry herself with a no-shit policy. He was thrown a bit off by the whole misconception, and he had to mentally shake his head clear before he was able to continue speaking. "I have a question for you."

"And what, may I ask, is the question?"

Sam could tell the woman was a little pissed off by the way she spoke to him, politely but forced. It was obvious she thought he was just some rich jackass on a power trip who was wasting her time. Despite her appearance, he stopped himself from immediately liking her. He squared his shoulders and looked down at her before saying, "I wanted to know how your bank allowed my wife to withdraw half of my account this morning."

"Was it a joint account?"

"Yes, but-"

"Perhaps, Mr. Winchester, you should be asking your _wife _why she withdrew half of your account this morning."

Sam felt the familiar surge of anger rise within him. It took all the effort he contained just to keep his voice below yelling level. "There was a limit set on that account. She wasn't allowed to withdraw more than five thousand a day."

"I checked into it before I came down here, and our records show that your wife came in here last week to place a new limit."

"And you allowed it without my permission?" Sam was going to sue this place into the ground. "Even if it was a joint account, it's required that both parties agree if-"

"Our records also show that we had vocal confirmation on your part."

"I never gave such confirmation."

The woman opened up a folder she was carrying and glanced at little black words printed on a piece of paper. "12:31pm, last Monday morning." She closed the folder and raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember getting a call from this bank around that time?"

"I would remember if I-" Sam never finished his sentence because he was suddenly recollecting a conversation he had had on the phone around that time. The call had come while he and his secretary were in the midst of 'very important business' and he had barely listened to what the person on the other line had been speaking about. Now he recalled a few words that suggested it may have been from the bank.

Sam sighed, glancing away. "I may have received such a call at that time."

He knew the woman was probably smirking inside, but was simply too professional to allow it to reach the surface of her lips. However, her eyes shone with something akin to victory as she smiled politely and said, "Very well, Mr. Winchester. I hope this conversation has been conclusive for you."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam muttered as he went to turn away. He didn't feel embarrassment often, and it wasn't quite the same reaction he was experiencing now. It was more like unease; a deep urge to prove to this woman that he wasn't just some rich jackass on a power trip wasting her time. He wasn't quite sure why he felt such a need or what it meant, but he fought the feeling, pushing it down to the bottom of his stomach, along with all the other feelings he had shoved down there over the years; the regret and the rage and the resentment.

He heard the sharp clicking of the manager's heels as she walked away and he took out his Blackberry, preparing to call Jessica and ask her what the fuck she was thinking when she withdrew $40 000 from his bank account this morning. Then he remembered signals were almost non-existent here, the bank being located partially underground. He cursed under his breath but couldn't stop himself from feeling lucky that his wife didn't have access to his other accounts, especially the two she didn't know about.

"Everyone, get down on the ground!" The shout came from across the room and Sam's head whipped around towards the direction it had come from. His attention was immediately drawn to a young woman dressed in a cowgirl outfit standing across the bank's main lobby. With long, blonde pigtails hanging beneath a cowboy hat, complete with leather boots, short jean shorts, and a plaid shirt, it was like she had mistaken today as Halloween. Except Sam was pretty sure it was only May, and that shotgun she held in her hands looked pretty damn real.

"You heard the girl!" The man who Sam had spotted before, the one dressed in a tuxedo, was now standing in front of the bank's main entrance. His mullet friend was doing something to the doors. Sam had seen way too many movies to immediately come to the conclusion that they were locking them in and that Sam was now a hostage. This was a bank robbery.

"Holy shit," he swore beneath his breath. This was just not his day.

"I said, on the fucking floor!" the cowgirl shouted as she came stomping across the expanse of reddish tiles, hoisting the barrel of the shotgun on her hip and pointing it in Sam's general direction. Glancing around, Sam realized that he was one of the few people in the room who had remained standing. He immediately dropped to his knees, putting his hands up for good measure.

"All right, all right," he said, trying to reassure the woman. "I'm down."

"Cowgirl!" Tuxedo called from a few feet away. "Be nice to the hostages." He held a Glock in his hand and Sam could see the grip of a second gun poking out of his belt, half hidden by his jacket flap. "Hey Mullet, get your ass over to the safe, would yah?"

Mullet nodded his head from where he was standing by the tellers. He held no gun but a laptop case was cradled under his arm. Sam watched as the man disappeared behind the desks but then quickly returned his attention to Cowgirl. She had gone off to harass another customer who was trying to escape the room, grabbing the woman by her ponytail and yanking her back.

Tuxedo stood in the middle of the room, watching everything with constant shifts of his eyes. Sam guessed he was the one in charge. He held an air about him that made that pretty clear. "Don't worry, folks," Tuxedo called out, his deep voice echoing in the large space. "No one will get hurt as long as no one tries to be a hero. Don't be stupid and you'll be fine." The sound of sobbing was the only answer, the noise coming from the young woman in the corner who had been badgered by Cowgirl.

"Hey, get on the floor," Tuxedo suddenly called, directing the order to someone behind Sam. Sam looked over his shoulder and saw the middle-aged woman he had avoided earlier. She had risen from the chair but she looked unsteady on her feet, her body swaying back and forth. Her head was drooping loosely between her shoulders, her short hair a mess and her arms hanging listlessly by her sides. She took a step forward, her foot dragging across the tiles.

"I said get down on the floor, lady," Tuxedo called again, this time raising his gun and pointing it at her. Although he was a fair distance away, the man's stance looked confident and Sam knew he wouldn't miss. There were a few screams that emanated from around the room, escaping the mouths of the hostages who had been rounded up in front of the tellers' desks. However, the woman did not seem to hear Tuxedo. She took another ungainly step forward, a strange moaning sound coming from her throat.

"Son of a bitch," Tuxedo grumbled, and then he was taking long strides towards the woman. Her shuffling stopped just as Tuxedo halted before her, one arm extended with the gun hovering only a few inches from her forehead. "I said get the fuck down," he growled, and Sam realized that the entire bank had gone deathly still. Even the crying had quieted down. Everyone was watching Tuxedo and the woman, breaths held as they awaited the outcome of the confrontation.

"She's just drunk," a voice spoke up suddenly. Sam immediately recognized it as belonging to the bank manager. He glanced to his side and saw the woman kneeling on the ground a few feet away. It was obvious she was trying to maintain a calm expression, but Sam could detect the underlying anxiety in her voice. "Please, she's just drunk. Don't shoot her."

"I'm not going to shoot her," Tuxedo bit back, clearly offended by the allegation. "But she needs to get down on the ground like everyone else here, or I might have to-"

Another guttural groan spilt from the woman's mouth and she raised her head, reaching out for the gun. Distracted by the manager, Tuxedo didn't react until the woman clutched at his hand, seeming to want him instead of the weapon he held. He immediately tore his limb away, giving the woman a scowl. He opened his mouth to yell at her again, but then the expression on his face transformed into something more like a mix of shock and repulsion. Sam knew his own expression was a mirror image, because the woman's face was now clearly visible, and it was not a pretty sight.

Her eyes were the first thing that drew attention because they clearly indicated that something was wrong with her, and it was not something that would be cured by hangover medication. It was as if the natural colour had drained from her irises, leaving behind a bluish white film that gave them a cloudy appearance. Her mouth hung open like her jaw no longer worked and now hung uselessly by its hinges. The skin of her face was pulled tautly across her skull in some places but sagged in others. It was pale and had a greyish tinge, like the colour of ashes.

"Jesus Christ," Tuxedo said as he took a step back, his gun now forgotten in his hand. "You look like you had one hell of a night."

The woman moaned in response, her hands still reaching outwards as she shuffled forward, fingers twitching in the air as if they were searching for something to clutch. Sam felt something cold trickle through his chest as he watched the woman's clumsy movements and heard the inhuman sounds pushed past her lips. He could tell Tuxedo felt the same icy dread by the way he continued to walk backwards, keeping a safe distance from the woman. He raised the gun again, this time holding it with two hands.

"Get the fuck back," he ordered. There was something in his voice now that made the command sound harsher. Sam realized it was fear. "Get back or else I'll blow your head apart. I'm not fucking around." There were no screams of protest from the hostages this time.

The woman did not obey, her groaning only becoming louder as she continued to lurch forward. Tuxedo had already moved back a few feet, but he stumbled on his next step and the woman pitched forward, opening her mouth wider and crying out with a sound that reminded Sam of a crazed animal's plea of hunger. Her fingers were just brushing Tuxedo's hands when he pulled the trigger.

There was an ear-splitting _bang_ and then the woman was falling backward. She hit the ground with the same sound a bag of meat makes when it strikes the surface of a butcher's cutting board. Several screams continued to echo around the room afterward, mixing with the buzzing in Sam's head. He realized he had covered his ears and slowly removed his hands as he stared at the woman on the floor. She lay still but her head had not been blown apart. At the last moment, Tuxedo had lowered his gun, the bullet tearing a hole through the woman's shoulder instead.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Cowgirl screamed from across the room. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Calm down," Tuxedo replied, not taking his eyes from the woman's motionless body. He still had the gun trained at her, both hands holding it steady like he expected her to spring up at any moment.

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to kill anyone," Cowgirl said as she treaded across the room to join her companion. Her cowgirl boots clicked against the tiles angrily with each step.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Tuxedo snapped. "I shot her in the shoulder. She won't die." He leaned close to Cowgirl as she came to stand next to him. "And I thought we agreed we weren't going to use each other's real names," he quietly growled.

"She looks pretty fucking dead to me." Cowgirl pointed down at the body, ignoring Tuxedo's comment. The woman still did not move, and Sam realized that she had not even uttered a cry when she had been shot.

"She's passed out," Tuxedo said, though he didn't sound convinced. He nudged the woman's leg with his foot. "She'll be fine."

As if on cue, the woman stirred, a long grunt emanating from her lips again and sending a shiver down Sam's spine. He watched in horrid fascination a she began to sit up, her eyelids slipping open once more to reveal her milky white irises.

"What's wrong with her?" Cowgirl asked, the anger in her voice suddenly gone and replaced with alarm. She followed Tuxedo's lead and took a step back.

"I don't know," her companion answered, a serious frown pulling his eyebrows together and tugging down the edges of his lips.

Everyone in the room watched as the woman struggled to her feet, uttering strange noises the entire time. A few instances she seemed to almost topple over like a drunkard, but everyone knew that alcohol was not what was causing her unsteadiness. She didn't even seem to notice that there was a gaping hole in her shoulder, or that a puddle of her blood lay on the tiles by her feet. She immediately began to drag her legs forward again, now reaching out with just her uninjured arm, fingers spreading towards Tuxedo and Cowgirl. The duo had widened the distance between themselves and the woman, their attention fully on her. Sam had the briefest thought that now would be a good time to try to escape, but he could not tear his eyes away from the unusual sight playing out before him.

There were two more loud _bangs_ and new holes appeared in the woman's chest, but this time the force of the bullets was not enough to knock her back. She stumbled for a moment but then righted herself and continued onwards. Sam watched with wide, unblinking eyes as another bullet tore through her abdomen, blood and guts spurting from her back, but she hardly seemed to care. The colour red was seeping from her open mouth and the hostages were screaming in horror now, their fear directed towards the unnatural display before them instead of the guns the bank robbers held.

"What the fuck!" Cowgirl suddenly screamed, her voice shrill with panic. Then she was raising her shotgun and sending a volley of bullets into the woman's face. Half her head was torn open as she stood still for a moment, her body swaying as what was left of her head leaned back, her neck arching unnaturally. Then she dropped to the ground, landing on her knees first before toppling to the side where she remained in a horrid heap on the ground.

Silence. No screams, just silence. Only Cowgirl's heavy breathing could be heard as the shotgun she held remained at eyelevel, her face not tilted downward to look at the body but staring forward at the empty air where her bullets had torn apart a human skull. The silence only lasted for a moment, however, and then everything turned into chaos. Two women made a break for the front doors, screaming as they tried not to trip in their high heels. The hipster bank teller had managed to make it back to his desk and was trying to call someone on the phone. Others were frozen where they kneeled on the ground, perhaps not completely over the shock they felt after witnessing the violent death of another human being. Sam supposed he was one of them, but it was not so much the sight of death that had him frozen to the spot - he had looked upon hundreds of pictures of crime scenes over his short career and had even defended those responsible for such carnage – it was more the fact that the woman lying on the ground was not human. Without a doubt, he knew this, and he was rarely wrong.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his stupor and he jumped as he turned his head. The bank manager was crouching next to him, her face a picture of intelligent determination. "You take the man and I'll take the girl," she stated, and it took a moment for Sam to understand what she was talking about. Then he realized she was plotting to take control of this messy situation, and apparently she wanted his help.

"Wait, what are you-" But she was already moving forward, swiftly making her way to the pair of bank robbers standing by the body. Cowgirl was still motionless but Tuxedo had turned his attention to the two women at the front entrance. They were banging on the thick glass, pulling at the door handles and screaming to gain the attention of passer-bys. As he began to rush over to the women, he didn't see Madison approaching his partner. Cowgirl seemed too distracted to notice as well, but even if Madison managed to take the gun from her, things could turn messy quickly. Sam knew he couldn't stop the gun-ho manager, so he did the only thing he could think of. He began to make his way to Tuxedo, hoping to disarm the man before he could pull his gun on Madison.

"Goddammit," Tuxedo swore as he tried to pull one of the women away from the door. She cried out hysterically and tried to slash him with her manicured nails. Sam was just behind him when he heard Cowgirl shout in surprise. Tuxedo seemed to hear it too, because he immediately swirled around and was met with Sam's fist. His head snapped back but he managed to stay on his feet, recovering surprisingly quickly and ducking his head out of the way before Sam could clip him with a second punch.

He was obviously skilled at fighting, because he managed to slip away from his disadvantageous spot against the door and was soon pointing the Glock between Sam's eyes. Staring down that barrel was one of the most terrifying moments of Sam's life, and he found he couldn't take his eyes away from the dark pit, not even to meet Tuxedo's stare and to plead for his life. He cursed Madison and her stupid plan and his decision to help her.

"Drop the gun," a familiar voice instructed, and Sam caught sight of Madison in his peripheral vision, shotgun in hand and trained on Tuxedo.

"Ash!" Cowgirl called from where she sat on the bank floor, having been shoved there by Madison. "Ash, where the fuck are you, you good for nothing MIT dropout?"

"Shut up or else I'll shoot your boyfriend," Madison ordered.

Cowgirl scowled. "He's not my boyfriend," she said angrily, but she didn't say another word.

Tuxedo laughed, though his voice held nervousness. "You shoot me, I shoot him." He gestured towards Sam, who had somehow torn his eyes away from the barrel of the gun to watch the unfolding events. He didn't turn his head, however, afraid that the slightest movement might trigger the gun Tuxedo held.

"You won't do that," Madison stated confidently.

"How do you know?"

"Because you agreed you weren't going to kill anyone. Now put the gun down, Dean."

Tuxedo grimaced at the sound of his real name. "Damn it, Jo. I told you not to slip up. Now we're fucking screwed."

"This whole thing was your stupid idea in the first place!" Cowgirl, or Jo, called out, crossing her arms on her chest. She looked like an angry child who hadn't received any good candy on Halloween, dressed up and pouting on the floor.

Dean sighed and lowered his arm, slowly bending down and placing the Glock on the ground. Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and then sucked in some more, suddenly grateful for the ability to breathe and live.

"Well isn't this perfect," Dean grumbled as he stepped back from the gun with his hands on his head. Madison kept the shotgun trained on him as she swiped the weapon from the floor. She handed the device to Sam and he hesitated before he took it. It was heavier than it looked.

"Stand there," Madison ordered the bank robber, who had backed up a few steps and now stood by one of the bank's large potted plants. "Cowgirl, or Jo, or whatever you want to be called, go get your mullet friend. Tell him he tries anything, or any of you try to escape, this one is going to get a bullet in his crotch." Dean's eyes widened slightly as he gulped, but he didn't say anything in protest. "You gentlemen in the blue and green shirts, please go with her," Madison added. "Make sure she doesn't pull any tricks."

Jo got up and grudgingly made her way behind the tellers' desks, seeking out her other companion as the two men followed her. "We didn't mean to kill anyone," Dean said when she left, his voice low. "That woman... She wasn't..." He couldn't seem to end his sentence, and Sam couldn't blame him. What was there to say? The woman hadn't been human.

"Tell that to the police when they arrest you," Madison said. Then she turned her attention to the others in the building, calling out, "Everyone, the situation is now under control. Please remain calm as we open the doors. The police will probably want to question you so it would be best if you stick around for a bit. I know you're all very frightened and I apologize for this horrible event." She glared at Dean but then directed her next question to the hipster bank teller who was still standing behind his desk, the phone pressed to his ear. "Kurt, did you manage to get in contact with the authorities?"

He looked up at her, his face pale. "All the lines are busy."

"What do you mean, 'all the lines are busy'?" Sam asked. "That's impossible."

The man shrugged unsurely. "No one's answering. I've been trying for quite some time now."

Sam stomped over to Kurt and took the receiver, shoving him out of the way. He listened to the automated voice on the other line, which continued to repeat the words, "All of our operators are busy at the moment. If this is an emergency, please continue to stay on the line until one of our operators become available to help you. Thank you for your patience."

"Of course this is a fucking emergency," Sam spat at the receiver before flinging it back at the teller who fumbled to catch it. "What else would we call 911 for?"

"Well I'll be. I leave you two alone for a few minutes and you end up causing a mess." Mullet appeared from one of the back rooms, Jo beside him and the two men sent to watch them taking up the rear. He still held the laptop, carried beneath his arm as he surveyed the room, his eyes hovering over the carcass splayed on the floor. "What happened there?"

"She was coming at us!" Jo defended. "What was I supposed to do, just let her eat us?"

"Eat you?" a large man dressed in a business suit scoffed. "Is that what you're going to tell the judge when they sentence you to life for manslaughter?"

Jo glowered at him. "You saw what she was like," she yelled. "She kept coming at us even after she was shot. She wasn't human!"

No one seemed to have a response to that. She had just voiced what everyone else had obviously been thinking. The businessman cleared his throat before turning to Madison. "Are you going to unlock those doors yet?"

"That's what we have Mullet here for," Madison said, lifting her chin in the man's direction. "You try to run away and Mr. Winchester over there will shoot you in the back, understand?"

Sam suddenly remembered he held a Glock in his hand. He looked at it before turning his gaze to Madison, but she was already ordering Dean to walk further back into the room, away from the entrance.

Mullet didn't seem to be bothered by the threat, strolling casually up to the doors and beginning to work on the locks he had secured on the handles. Sam wondered what he was supposed to do with the Glock, finally settling on pointing it at the ground a few feet from Mullet, not quite feeling the courage to direct it at the man's back. As he held the weapon, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Hadn't Dean been carrying two guns? There was the one Sam was holding now, but he could have sworn he had seen another tucked into his- "Shit!" he cursed as he turned around. "Check him for another-"

But it was too late. At that moment, while Madison's attention was focused on Mullet, Dean reached into his tuxedo and pulled out a second Glock, identical to the one Sam held. Sam had never quite experienced instinct like he did then. Without thinking, he immediately aimed his gun and pulled the trigger. Dean's right leg buckled and the gun he held clattered to the floor. He moved to reach for it but Madison was already kicking it away before he could grasp it.

"Son of a-" Dean clutched at his wound. "What the hell did you shoot me for?"

"You were going to kill her," Sam stated, his voice a little breathless. His body was still reeling from the feeling of shooting a gun. His arms tingled from the rebound, his head swimming as his ears rang from the loudness of the gunfire. His heart was jack hammering in his chest, because he had never known he could aim that well.

"I was just trying to make the odds more even," Dean defended through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of irritation laced with pain. "You think we want to go to jail?"

"I knew you'd get shot," Jo ridiculed, not even trying to help her fallen companion. "You always get shot. This time I'm not going to be the one to deal with it. You can get the paramedics to help you."

"I always knew you cared about me, Jo," Dean replied in sarcasm, his lips twisted into a fake smile distorted by pain.

"Um, I hate to interrupt, but I just wanted to confirm that you still want me to open these doors." Mullet had stopped working on the locks and now was glancing around the room.

"Of course we do, you freak," the businessman barked. "Open the goddamn doors and let us out of here!"

"Are you sure?" Mullet asked again, raising his eyebrows. "I think it might be better if we stay in here."

"Are you fucking high?" the businessman bellowed, taking a threatening step forward. He was a big man, taller than Sam and made even more intimidating with a shaved head. "I said, open the fucking doors!"

"Sir, please calm down," Madison said. She had picked up the second Glock and already had it slipped into the waistline of her pressed pants. Sam wondered for the briefest moment why she didn't hand it to another of the hostages. He had the oddest thought that maybe it was because he was the only one here she trusted, and the idea made him feel a little pleased. But then he was pushing away such thoughts and focusing on the more important events taking place.

"Please open the doors." Madison was addressing Mullet, who looked at her now like she was mad.

"I think it's safer in here," Mullet proclaimed. "I don't think you want to go out there right now."

"All right, I've had enough of this," the bald businessman said as he made his way to the doors, pushing Mullet aside with a quick shove of his shoulder. He pulled at the handle and the door swung open. The man smirked as he looked back at everyone else. "The bastard already opened it," he said. "Tell the police they can contact Richard Bearings at Bearings Inc. downtown. Those lazy asses can't even come to the phone, then I'm not going to stick around here to answer their questions." He stepped out of the building and into the bank's entrance, which consisted of a short brick tunnel sheltering a staircase that led up to the street. Sam watched as he walked a few steps but then stopped. Someone had appeared at the entrance of the tunnel. Sam couldn't quite discern the individual's features, except to discern that it was a male, but the way he moved reminded him of the woman whose brain matter was now splattered across the bank's lobby floor. The person listed forward, seeming to gain initiative as he caught sight of Richard Bearings and the people in the bank behind him.

"Lock the doors," Dean commanded. Sam turned his head and saw that even though the bank robber had a bullet wound in his leg his face was composed and serious. "Ash, call that asshole back in here and lock the doors again."

Mullet, whose real name seemed to be Ash, obeyed immediately, and no one objected. It was as if everyone knew that what Dean had said was what had to be done. Perhaps they had all realized it when they had first witnessed that woman sustain several bullet wounds and continue to walk, the look on her face one of hunger instead of pain. Perhaps they all felt it somewhere deep in their bones, in the chill down their spines and the hair standing up on the back of their necks, that something was wrong. That they were safer inside of this bank, locked up with a trio of dangerous criminals, than outside in the city's dark streets. Perhaps they all understood, like some sort of primitive animal's sense, that the world as they knew it was about to change catastrophically. And that it wasn't going to be a fun ride.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Tourniquets and Panic Buttons

Being shot was not fun. Dean would know, because it had happened to him a ridiculous amount of times. First there had been the bullet that had torn its way through the palm of his hand when he was six. It had happened the first time he had handled a gun, stumbling upon it while playing in his father's room. Then there had been the time he was sixteen and had gotten into a fight with a bunch of older kids from school. One of them had drawn a gun and shot him in the gut. That had strangely hurt less than the first time, but it had also landed him two weeks in the hospital.

Of course there had also been the several bullet wounds he had sustained while on the job. Being a criminal was not an easy career, and he had the scars to prove it. The bullet hole in his leg right now was not new to him, though it still hurt like a bitch.

"Can someone please get me a tourniquet or something?" he yelled at no one in particular. "Maybe a bottle of whiskey while you're at it…" he added under his breath as he examined the expanding stain of blood that was soaking his jeans.

Unfortunately, the large businessman was shouting at everyone in the room and Dean doubted a single person had heard him over the din. This whole night was messed up, but at least there was some freaky drugged out dude walking around outside. Dean had been able to see him up on the street from his sitting position, and the guy had been dragging himself along in a very inhuman way. It had reminded him of the woman he had shot, and he hadn't wanted to take any chances with another freak. So he had told the businessman to shut the door, and surprisingly, he had agreed. Ash was in the process of locking it again, and Dean was thinking maybe him and his team would get out of this predicament with no jail time in their futures.

"You're all fucking insane!" the businessman screamed. "Why are we locking ourselves in here? We should be calling the police and-"

"We tried that already," The sasquatch-looking man said in a hard voice; the one who had somehow landed a punch on him. "The lines are busy. And _you're_ the one who closed the door again. What the hell for?"

That seemed to stop the man from shouting. "There's someone out there," he said, pointing to the glass doors, his voice suddenly getting higher pitched. "You saw it, didn't you? Some guy probably messed out of his mind on drugs or something. I didn't want to go out with someone like that just walking around."

Mr. Winchester sighed but said no more. It seemed everyone had seen the man outside, and no one was willing to risk taking the venture to the street. Not even with three bank robbers inside. Not after seeing what that woman had been able to do, the one who had taken several gunshots and had continued on like nothing had happened. It made Dean shiver just to recall it, and he sure as hell wasn't going to look back at the gory mess lying on the bank floor to his right.

He felt light headed for a moment and had to shake his head to refocus on his rapidly worsening situation. "Shit…" he cursed. He was losing too much blood. He needed a tourniquet. Now.

"Hey!" he called out, but it seemed he had been forgotten, because everyone else was arguing about what to do. They had gathered in a messy huddle in front of the doors, and those that weren't involved were still sitting in front of the tellers, watching the group with round, scared eyes. He guessed a few of the hostages had used the distraction to disappear into the hallways and offices in the back of the building. Ash was looking out the glass doors and Jo had joined the group at some point and was now yelling while pointing an accusing finger at the hot brunette in a business suit.

"Hey, can you guys stop arguing for a second?" he called out again, but it was no use. "Useless, good for nothing…" He struggled to undo his belt, planning to tie it above the wound in an attempt to create a makeshift tourniquet. It was a shitty solution, but it would have to do for now.

Problem was, his fingers wouldn't work as he tried to tighten the belt around his thigh. It was like they had become numb, and there seemed to be no strength in his arms. He had already lost too much blood. The bullet must have grazed a major artery. He was going to go into shock pretty soon, and then-

Something banged on the glass doors and everyone jumped, a few screams echoing around the room. Everyone's heads turned towards the noise, where the man who had been on the street earlier was now pressed up against the glass. He was pawing at the doors like a wild animal, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He didn't seem to find it demeaning that his nose was pressed up against the glass like a child staring into a candy shop. In fact, the look of longing in his expression was similar to the situation. The man was looking at all of those behind the glass like they were something to be eaten.

Dean watched with a blurry gaze as the group dispersed, some of the hostages running back to the tellers while shrieking. Jo and Ash had taken a few steps back from the doors and now stood gazing at the man alongside the hot brunette, the bald businessman, and the sasquatch-looking man.

"What's wrong with him?" Jo asked as the drugged-out man continued to press himself against the door, her voice unusually meek.

"Isn't it obvious?" the businessman spurted out, his tone nervous. "He's some lowlife druggy who's tweaking. Probably sees us all as giant, dancing candy apples or some stupid shit like that."

"I've been around a lot of drug users in my lifetime, sir, and I can assure you that this man's problems do not involve drugs of any sort," Ash drawled in his know-it-all way that surprisingly didn't make you want to punch him. "This man here is sick, but with what, I have no idea."

Dean's vision faded to black for a moment but flooded with images again when one of the women who had run to the back began to scream. "Can't you see? He's just like that woman!" She pointed a shaky finger at the remains of the female body slumped on the floor.

There was an eruption of voices as everyone seemed to suddenly have an opinion on the matter. Dean wanted to voice his own, to tell everyone to shut the fuck up and pay attention to the bleeding man with the gun wound, but he couldn't form the words. There really was no point, anyhow. He was going to have to accept that his career, and his life, was about to end; terminated on the marble floor of a New York City bank on the night of his last heist. This haul was supposed to fund his retirement, but he had pictured a different type of 'retirement' at the age of 29; more along the lines of a house somewhere on the beach with its own butler and a batch of pretty ladies by his side.

So much for that dream. Life was shitty. He knew that. He never should have gotten his hopes up in the first place.

"Everyone calm down!" the brunette yelled in a booming voice. Surprisingly, everyone listened, the room becoming silent but for the squeaking of skin on glass. Dean knew this was his chance to say something, to call for help and perhaps gain the attention of someone who might give a shit about a bank robber bleeding out on the floor of the bank he had just tried to rob, but before he could make a noise his vision swung and he felt like he could no longer support his own head. He knew his skull was about to make contact with marble, but before he lost consciousness he heard the brunette say something about maintaining order and reason.

_Good luck with that, sweetheart_, he thought. _Order and reason don't exist in this world. Never have, never will._

_Crack._

/

Lisa Braeden was considering bankruptcy. Being a single mother was as hard as they made it seem in the movies, and with three mortgages on her house and two and a half jobs on her list of responsibilities, she was about to break. She was staring at the worn-out nameplate sitting on the desk, the one that spelt out the name 'Bobby Singer', as she listened to the man list the steps she would have to take in the coming weeks.

"There's no shame in it these days," Bobby said in that kind, grandfatherly voice he had. Lisa had always liked the man, but that didn't make it any easier to accept the news that she had failed financially. She looked up at him, and upon seeing the genuine concern on his wrinkled face, she forced herself to smile. "Thanks, Bobby," she said, meaning it. "I think that tomorrow I'm going to-"

_Bang_.

The sound was loud and came from the direction of the main lobby. It had been short and powerful, and Lisa swore that it was a familiar noise, but she couldn't quite place it. She sat still for a moment, her mind racing to identify the sound. She was about to turn to Bobby and ask him what it had been when two more similar sounds came in rapid succession, and by the time a third reached her ears, Lisa was confident that they were gunshots. Her mind rapidly ran through all of the possible reasons why someone would be unleashing bullets in a bank, and she quickly jumped to the conclusion that it was being robbed.

She glanced at Bobby, but before she had time to say anything another shot rang through the room, this one sounding slightly different from the others, as if fired from another gun. "There's more than one robber," she thought aloud. Bobby must have come to the same conclusion as her, because he simply nodded his head as his face hardened. Suddenly he was no longer the kind old man who helped her with her financing, but was a determined soldier who seemed to know what he was doing as he stood up from his chair and went over to the door.

Pushing one ear against the wood, he turned the lock and switched the light off as he listened for any more sounds that would hint to what was going on out there. They remained silent for a few minutes, but when there were no more shots, Bobby turned to her. "Stay here," he ordered her. "I've pressed the panic button already. The police should be here any second."

"Where are you going?" Lisa asked, her voice high pitched due to the terror it held.

"I'm going to check out the situation," he told her. "Lock the door when I leave and don't open it for anyone."

As he disappeared and she turned the lock again, Lisa suddenly became aware of her pounding heart. She leaned her head against the door, listening with bated breath as she heard rapid footsteps approach and pass, as if a woman in high heels was running down the hallway. She inhaled deeply, praying that she wouldn't have to suffer through another panic attack. She had experienced the last one when her son, Ben, had fallen out of a tree and hit his head. She could still remember struggling to breathe in the waiting room of the hospital, a pain taking root in her chest as she had the thought that something horrible was going to happen. But Ben had been fine, and so had she when the doctors had given her the good news. It had taken her awhile to calm down, but the pain had eventually gone away.

Oh god, Ben… What if she didn't make it out of this bank? What if he was left with no mother? Lisa didn't have any family that would be willing to take him in. She had never given him godparents. Her sister was all the way in California, and was already struggling to raise her own daughter. Lisa doubted she'd be able to raise a four-year-old _and_ an eight-year-old. Ben would be thrown into the system.

There was another shot. "Oh god, please, no," she prayed, looking up at the white ceiling. "Let me survive this. Let me see my son's face again."

Lisa jumped as someone banged on the door. She ran over to the desk and crouched behind it, waiting for the door to be blown down with a volley of bullets. But instead she heard Bobby's voice again. "Lisa, open the door," he shouted through the wood. "It's okay. It's just me."

Bobby had told her not to open the door for anyone, but she supposed he had not included himself in that command. She quickly got up and turned the lock. Bobby entered like he was a man on a mission. Without saying a word he strode over to his desk and reached inside a drawer, withdrawing a white medical kit. "Follow me," he said as he exited the room.

"But what about the-"

Bobby answered her before she had time to finish asking her question. "The robbers are still in the building, but they're not a problem at the moment." She followed him into the brightly lit hallway, glad she had not dressed up for the bank meeting. If she needed to escape, at least she had her runners on.

"I don't understand," she said, processing what Bobby had told her. "Did the police come?"

"The police aren't coming," he replied, his voice grave. But before Lisa could inquire further, they entered the bank lobby.

The first thing that drew her eye was the group of people standing near the doors. Most of them were facing the glass, the group including both men and women dressed in all levels of fashion. There were two men dressed in suits, one bald and the other tall with a shaggy mess of hair. Two women stood between them, one in a blazer and skirt, the other strangely dressed in a cowgirl outfit. There was also a man with a mullet standing closer to the doors. Others were spread out across the room, a number of them crouching by the tellers. Lisa couldn't see what they were all staring at, but a flash of red caught the corner of her eye and she swung her head to the left, stopping in her tracks.

A corpse was lying in the middle of the lobby. It was a woman, dressed in casual clothing that was now stained red. Half her head was missing, brain matter sprayed across the tiles. Lisa wanted to scream and throw up at the same time. She had never seen a dead body in person before, and even from this distance it struck a horrible, cold fear in her.

She tore her eyes from the body and searched for Bobby's comforting gaze, but the man had not stopped walking. He wasn't headed towards the doors, but to a bunch of plotted plants off to the side. A man in a tuxedo was lying on the ground, a puddle of blood surrounding his legs. Lisa swallowed and then followed Bobby, her legs shaking as she tried not to look at the woman's corpse again. Glancing at the crowd of people, she realized that a few of them held guns, and she quickened her pace to catch up with Bobby, praying they were too distracted to notice her.

When she caught up with the old man she wanted to ask what was going on, but they had reached the man in the tuxedo and Bobby was already kneeling down by his side. She heard Bobby mumble something about blood loss as she stared down at the wounded man. She couldn't help but note that he was good looking, though his face was deathly white.

"Lisa, I need you to open the medical kit and hand me some bandages," Bobby said as he grabbed a belt that was loosely wrapped around the man's leg. It looked like the man in the tuxedo had tried to create some sort of tourniquet with his belt, but had passed out before he had succeeded. Lisa fumbled with the kit as Bobby tightened the belt, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of the wound. The man had obviously been shot, and Lisa glanced nervously at the crowd by the door, wondering who had shot him.

Now she could see then what they were all staring at. A man was on the other side of the doors, his face pressed to the glass like he _really _wanted inside. His hands were scratching against the material, his teeth gnashing as his jaw moved up and down. His eyes did not look right.

"Lisa!" Bobby called her name sternly, and she refocused on him. "The bandages." She glanced down at his open palm and placed in it the white wad of bandages she had pulled from the medical kit. She watched with a growing sense of detachment as he undid the wad and began rolling the white material around the man's leg. He had pulled the man's pants down, revealing black undergarments, but Lisa did not blush as she stared. She felt sick as she saw the raw bullet wound in the man's thigh, and then the bright red blood that soaked the bandages as they were placed over it.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she mumbled.

A high pitched squeak came from the direction of the crowd. "Dean!" Lisa glanced over to see the blonde cowgirl running towards them. "Holy crap!"

She landed hard on her knees as she dropped down next to the injured man, but didn't wince, her focus solely on the one she had called 'Dean'. "I can't believe I forgot about you," she said, and then looked up at Bobby. "How much blood has he lost?"

"Too much," Bobby answered, not looking away from his work as he continued to wrap the wound. "Maybe if you knuckleheads had paid attention to your pal sooner, he wouldn't be standing at death's door."

The cowgirl looked like she was about to respond with a nasty remark, but then looked down. "He's survived worse," was all she said. She leaned over, turning the man's face towards her. "If you die on me, Dean Campbell, I swear I'm going to resurrect you _just_ to kill you myself." It seemed like a silly threat to Lisa, but she kept her mouth shut.

"There," Bobby said as he leaned back. "That's all I can do for now."

Cowgirl looked at him in panic. "There's nothing more? He's so pale! He's going to die!"

"Now listen here," Bobby said. "Short from a blood transfusion or intravenous administration of isotonic fluids, there's nothing else I _can do_. We're just going to have to wait and see if he pulls through."

Cowgirl looked angry, but she didn't say anything as she glanced back at Dean. "You stupid idiot," she said to the unconscious man, causing Lisa to raise her eyebrows in surprise. "You always have to go and get yourself shot. I'm always the one left worrying." She stood up, placing her hands on her hips. "Ash, come here and help me lift this dumbass over to the carpet, would you?" she called out to the group of people.

As heads swivelled to look at her, the man with the mullet stepped out from the crowd and began to lazily stroll towards them. "Well I'll be damned," the man drawled. "I forgot all about Dean being shot."

"It's no surprise," Cowgirl stated as she went to grab Dean's legs. "Dean getting shot is not exactly headliner news nowadays."

Ash chuckled as he reached them. His eyes took in Bobby and then switched to Lisa. "Well howdy, folks," he greeted them. "Thanks for saving my pal, Dean, here." He squatted down and hooked his arms beneath his friend's armpits. Dean's head hung limply to the side, his skin still as pale as a ghost's. "He can be a little careless at times," he grunted as he lifted Dean's upper body, Cowgirl raising his legs. "But he's a good guy."

Lisa watched them both as they shuffled towards the tellers, skirting around the corpse of the lady. They disappeared behind a desk as she followed Bobby's action and stood up.

"The bastard deserved to bleed out," a male's voice said. It was the bald businessman. He had walked up to them, and his eyes also watched as Dean was carried away. "Damn criminal."

"Criminal?" Lisa gasped. "You mean he's the-"

"Those three come in here dressed like Halloween freaks and start threatening everyone. They shot that poor woman. They disconnected the phones or something too." The businessman turned away, addressing the whole room as he raised his voice. "Now we're all stuck in this goddamn bank because there's some sick drug addict scratching at the door, and everyone in here is too much of a pussy to go out and face him."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one who shut the door and said you didn't want to face him," the tall man in the suit commented, obviously annoyed. "And we don't know what's wrong with that man." He pointed to the doors. "He could be on drugs, or he could be some whack job who will take out a knife and stab whoever steps outside. We don't know."

"Oh please," the bald man scoffed as he paced in an arch, as if circling the other man. "The guy is probably harmless. Nothing a little punch couldn't handle. Just like the woman those fucking criminals decided to mow down, while all of you did nothing to stop them."

Lisa noted that the tall man did not seem to show guilt at the other man's words. If what was being said was true, everyone had let an innocent woman be shot to death. Lisa was trying rapidly to figure out what had occurred while she had been huddling in Bobby's room in the back, but it was all too shocking. Tensions were high, and in front of her, the confrontation between the two men was beginning to escalate.

"What's your name again?" the younger man asked.

The bald man replied warily. "Richard."

"All right, Rich. Why don't you go out there and deal with the man if you believe it's so easy. We'll tell the police and the city that you were the one who saved us all. How about it?" The tall man smiled. He obviously thought Rich wouldn't accept.

"I'd be happy to," Rich stated, rolling up his sleeves. Get that mullet head in here and have him unlock the door."

"I'll get him," a woman volunteered. She trotted off in the direction of the tellers, disappearing behind the desks where Dean had been brought. A few moments later she reappeared with Ash.

"Pamela here tells me you are in need of my assistance," he said as he stopped and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Open the door, you fucking mongrel," Rich ordered.

"Now, now," Ash raised his hands in a calming manner. "I have a name."

"I don't care what you're fucking name is. Open that door so we can all finally leave this place and send you and your dumbass friends to prison where your kind belongs."

Ash shrugged. "Suit yourself." Lisa watched as he strolled towards the doors, grabbing a hold of the lock that chained the handles together. He took a moment to look at the man pressing himself against the glass. "Damn, you're an ugly mofo," he said, grimacing. He looked over his shoulder. "Y'all ready?"

Rich shouldered his way through those who were backing away from the door. He positioned himself in front of the exit. "Do it," he ordered.

Ash pulled the chains away and then stepped back. Rich charged the doors, pushing with his shoulder as he came in contact with the heavy, bullet-proof glass. The man behind the doors was pushed backwards from the force, stumbling onto the steps that led up to the street. The door slowly swung closed as Rich stood in the partially underground entranceway, his fists raised as the drug addict struggled to get up.

"Come on!" Lisa heard Rich yell, his voice muffled due to the glass. She watched as he swung a fist forward, his hand connecting with the other man's jaw and sending his head twisting to the side as he collapsed to the ground. Rich's shoulders were rising and falling as he looked down at the man, as if he was breathing heavily, but then he turned around and swung open the door, poking his head into the bank. "There you go," he said, his comment mainly directed towards the tall man who had challenged him. "Wasn't that hard."

A deep moaning drifted into the room and Rich whipped his head to look over his shoulder. Lisa could see the man on the ground beginning to rise, but the sound had not come from him. A pair of shoes appeared on the stairway, seeming to be unsteady as they slowly shuffled down the steps. Lisa watched in fascination as the owner of the feet was slowly revealed, an unexplained terror gripping her as a slack jaw and filmy eyes appeared. They belonged to an older man this time, dressed in a trench coat with a head of white hair.

Lisa heard a number of gasps around her. Someone began to pray in Spanish. Rich had turned around outside and was swearing. She could hear him through the closed doors. "What the fuck is going on?" he shouted. "Fucking drug addicts!"

The old man had reached the bottom of the steps and was reaching his hands out, letting out another moan as he stumbled towards Rich. The businessman seemed to find it a little more disconcerting to clock an elderly person, so instead he put his hands out to fend off the approaching elder. "Look, man," Lisa heard him say. "Get back or I'm going to have to hit you." The old man didn't slow down.

"I swear to god, I'll-"

Rich screamed as the man on the floor bit his leg. It seemed Lisa and the others, including Rich himself, had been too distracted by the entrance of the old man to notice that the other drug addict had dragged himself over to where Rich was standing.

"Fuck!" Rich swore as he tried to shake the man off. He bent down and hit his head a number of times, until his grip finally slackened and Rich was able to take a step back. But the old man was still coming at him, and caught off balance, Rich fell backward as the old man ploughed into him.

"God damn it," the tall man hissed as he ran to the doors and pushed them open. Once outside, he wasted no time in grabbing the old man by the collar and hoisting him off of Rich. The elder was torn away, but something red was between his teeth. Lisa almost emptied her lunch on the floor when she realized it was flesh. He had bitten Rich, who was still screaming on the floor.

The tall man threw the elder onto the steps before turning back and helping Rich to his feet. As he pushed the businessman back into the bank he made sure the doors were shut behind him. "Ash, lock these up," he ordered. As Ash began to quickly tie chains around the door handles again, the tall man backed away, his eyes large and round and focused on the two people outside, who were both beginning to pick themselves up again. Lisa noticed his hands were shaking as she tried to still her own trembling body.

"They bit me!" Rich screamed as he fell to the ground, one hand pressed to the wound at his neck and the other raising his pants to see the other one on his ankle. "Fucking savages. Who the hell bites someone?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Lisa wouldn't have been able to answer it anyway. She had seen drug addicts before, even when they were tweaking, but never had she seen one bite another person. Most of them went for chips or Twinkies instead.

"Hey!" someone protested. The short brunette dressed nicely was staring wide eyed at Bobby as he passed her and came to stand in front of Rich. Lisa realized then that he had stolen a gun from the woman, and was now pointing it down at the businessman's head. Rich looked up at the barrel of the gun with a shocked expression, the pain from his wounds momentarily forgotten.

"What are you doing?" the tall man demanded to know, taking a step forward but not daring to intercede.

"We have to kill him," Bobby said in a steady voice. "We have to kill him or else we all die."

**To Be Continued.**


End file.
